The Missing Legend
by Kirmon64
Summary: There is said to be a Pokemon that roams the shores of Cinnabar Island in the dead of night...


Just a little blurb that popped into my head... how would Missingno. fit into the anime - or even in-universe game - world of Pokemon? Short and... not so sweet.

**Rated (T) For:** Description of something not-so-savoury. Might only be a K-plus, but I'll play it safe.

* * *

-

You know that you shouldn't be alone at the beach at night, and it isn't simply because of the warnings of Cinnabar's citizens, either. There's just something - wrong about this entire area. You can't pinpoint what exactly is sending shivers up your spine; could it be the strange appearance of the land, as though it has been sucked of all life? Or is it the absolute stillness of the air, the strange lightheadedness that enters your mind as you get closer and closer to the water? Most likely, it is a combination of the three. Or perhaps - perhaps it is the whispering in the air that sounds like hundreds of voices speaking at once?

Wait a moment - those voices weren't there a moment ago.

Though all your instincts tell you to leave, and fast, your curiosity gets the best of you and you cautiously walk forwards, towards the shore. The sliver of the moon only reflects dimly off the still, black water, but it's all the light you have. Out here, so far from the city, there are no synthetic light sources.

The whispering increases in volume; and the air around becomes warmer within moments. You take off your jacket and tie it around your waist, no longer feeling the chilly night air. A queer rattling noise reaches your ears. It sounds - almost like what you've heard someone's dying breath sounds like.

And then suddenly, a Thing appears.

It walks right out of the water, leaving a cloud of steam behind it. Though there is little light, you can easily make out its features; it seems to be glowing faintly. The Thing is skeletal, grossly so, with only a few scraps of muscle and flesh and rotted maroon fur covering its bones. But it seems to be alive, still; it breathes regularly and through its ribcage you can see glimpses of black lungs and a shriveled heart slowly expanding and contracting. The bleach-white of the skull is smooth and devoid of flesh or fur, beginning at the bird's beak and sweeping back into a long tapered cone in the rear; there is a jaw, as well, and though there are no muscles it still moves with each inhale and exhale. Its head would, ordinarily, have been a normal size for its body, but emaciated as the Thing is, it seems to be unable to lift its head's weight and instead lets it droop down so that its beaklike nose is almost touching the sand.

You try to back away from the unnatural Thing, but find yourself rooted in place. You watch its movements with a sort of morbid curiosity, wanting it to go away but at the same time wanting to get a closer look at it. Something - odd is happening to the area around which it steps, a sort of - distortion. The ground turns to mist, and then - disappears, to be replaced by a jumble of small letters, numbers, and blocks of patterns and colors.

Your pocket bulges, and you look down in alarm. The seams of your jean pocket is quickly ripped and the snack you brought along - a Ragecandybar - falls out. But not just one - several, and then more than ten, more than forty, fifty, sixty... They keep on multiplying for several moments until there must be over one hundred lying on the beach, all exact copies.

The Thing is by now close enough that you can barely see a red light glowing in its hollow eyesockets. The gaze is devoid of emotion. You realize, with mounting horror, that it is headed straight for you, and hasn't even seemed to notice your existence.

You try one last time to run but all at once you realize that you can't feel your legs. You look down and your heart stops as you see that the strange distortion in the ground, that number-and-letter appearance, has spread… spread to your feet, your ankles, your legs.

The fetid breath of the Thing hits your face and you have time for part of a scream before it walks _into_ you and just like that –

There is nothing but an empty beach filled with Ragecandybars and rapidly disappearing number-letter swirls.

* * *

"The kid made a stupid mistake," the mayor of Cinnabar says the next morning when your family tries to find you, "They shouldn't have gone to the beach. We told them but they didn't listen. The Missing One took them. I'm sorry." 


End file.
